Un pas vers le salut
by Vladimir43ofMorgul
Summary: [Ameviet:All Humans] After what happened to Matthew in Vietnam, Alfred is determined to go there himself and see the truth of what is really happening. He will work there as a war correspondent until he finds the answers he is looking for. In the process, he crosses the path of a girl who seems to know more than she should. Unwanted feelings ensue.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: Hi guys! This is my first attempt at writing a Hetalia fanfic after years of lurking in the fandom. So I hope it's not too bad. So basically it's a historical fiction based on the Vietnam war. I have not yet chosen Vietnam's human name but something tells me it will start with "L". Ly, perhaps Le Ly. If you have any ideas, please leave a review :) The chapter was rather tough to write because it had to deal with so many historical events it made me dizzy. Also, Alfred will be kind of a jackass at first (more than usual anyway). Next chapter will be Vietnam-centric. So yeah, here we go.**

**Un pas vers le salut**

**Chapter 1 **

The gentle squeak of a door opening behind him nearly made Matthew jump out of his skin. His first reflex was to stuff the leaflet he was looking at in his pocket, hoping that the intruder would not notice his quick gesture. Grinning from ear to ear, Alfred entered the room, the floorboards groaning under his heavy footsteps.

"Ssshhhh Alfred, you are going to wake up mom and dad!" Matthew hissed.

In the corner of his mind Matthew was aware that Alfred had not even said a word yet but somehow the mere presence of his brother made him nervous. In fact, it was no secret that Alfred could make people uneasy by simply staring at them with his deep, soulful eyes that his glasses made a very bad job at concealing. Although they were almost identical twins, everyone seemed to agree on the fact that those shiny eyes were Alfred's trademark and had nothing to do with Matthew's somewhat glassy eyes.

"Hey Matt, whatcha doing?!" Alfred said rather loudly, utterly ignoring his brother's warning.

He then attempted to open the bag of potato chips he was carrying with him, filling the room with wild plastic crinkling noises. Thirty seconds. Thirty freaking seconds. It was the amount of time it had taken Alfed to entirely ruin the scholarly atmosphere of their parents' library.

"Seriously Alfred! You eat those all the time, why on earth do you have to wrestle with the bag when we aren't supposed to make any noise?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Oh shut up, I'm trying my best here!" Alfred sounded distressed, as if his life depended on the potato chips. Just as he said so, he managed to tear the bag in two, liberating an aroma of salt, pepper and oil.

Matthew silently apologised to the collection of leather-bound books and antique furniture as Alfred started to munch on the chips, carelessly sprinkling the Orientel rug with crumbs in the process.

"Anyway fella, what are you doing here? I always thought that you found the library creepy so it was kind of a surprise when I noticed there was light under the door. I couldn't help taking a look, you see?"

Actually they both disliked spending time in the library, since it was so ancient, and prefered studying in the comfort of their respective rooms. But it seemed that not even his strong dislike for spooky atmospheres could prevent Alfred from sticking his nose into other people's business. Matthew's attempt at avoiding Alfred for the evening had miserably failed.

"Perhaps you're just trying to avoid me, which I understand perfectly," Alfred said. "I think I saw you putting a picture in your pocket when I entered the room so I guess I'll let you do whatever you feel like doing during your... spare time. Bye!"

Alfred turned to leave and Matthew was surprised at how easy it had been to get rid of him. _Too easy. _He replayed his brother's words in his head and his face reddened when he realised what Alfred was implying he had been doing -or about to do.

"Hey come back here you idiot!" Matthew yelled, which was just above a whisper. "Fine, I'll show you okay?"

"Really? Thanks dude!"

Alfred sat across him on the rug, smugness etched on his features. It was an expression that Matthew often saw on Alfred's face when he managed to get his own way, which happened more times than he wanted to admit. He realised that his twin was probably hinting things that were not appropriate on purpose and he suddently felt less eager to reach inside his pocket. He stared blankly at Alfred and Alfred mirrored his expression.

"So you're not going to show me your dirty pictures after all?"

"Oh damn you Alfred, you know very well those are not dirty pictures!" Matthew said, cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

" The only way to convince me is to prove it! Come on dude, show Alfie!"

Alfred poked Matthew's ribs and continued to sing "Show Alfie, show Alfie!" with the twangiest he could muster. Matthew resisted the urge to poke back as he reached inside his pocket, finally giving in.

"Here you go," he said, as he placed the leaflet in his brother's open palm.

Alfred's face lit up as he greedily examined the flyer. The front page showed the logo of the Peace Corps and a photograph of President Kennedy, which was a grim reminder that he had been assassinated less than a year before, in November 1963. Alfred shuddered as he remembered all the madness that had issued. People crying in the streets, clutching radios that had just announced the fateful incident and that look of distress he had seen on his fellow classmates and teachers. They all had felt very alone that day, as if the universe had given up on them. And then there had been the funeral and the mournful drumbeat that accompanied it. He could still remember the look of sorrow on Jacqueline Kennedy's face as she walked beside the coffin.

Alfred tried to shake off these horrible memories by concentrating on what was written on the leaflet, rather than the photographs that decorated it. And it was surpringly interesting to learn about all those missions that were currently recruiting volunteers. Judging from the battered appearance of the leaflet, Alfred could guess that Matthew had been carrying it for a long time.

"Interested in the Peace Corps, eh? Are you planning to join them when you finish college?" Alfred asked.

"Well errr, not exactly, I mean errr..." Matthew stammered. That was why he had wanted to be alone. He had enough trouble figuring out what he wanted to do without Alfred pestering him around. Damn it, his shining blue eyes made him want to squirm!

"I can't say I'm surprised. I guess it's just like you to try and help people around the world, even if you catch dysentria and pneumonia in the process. But hey, you've got better things to worry about, like which college you are going to enroll at."

"Alfred, I think this is all the problem. I -I don't think this is what I want to do. At least for the moment. I want to make a difference, Alfred."

"What do you mean, making a difference? You want to join the Peace Corps _before_ college? Dude are you crazy, it says that a standard tour is about twenty-seven months, you will be freaking twenty when you get back!"

The concerned look on Alfred's face made Matthew reconsider his life plans for the slightest instant. When Alfred had that almost serious expression on his face, you knew something wasn't quite right. But in his heart of hearts, Matthew felt that this time he had to stand his ground no matter what. Because it was what **he **believed was right, not Alfred or their parents.

"Alfred, I want to do it. I have to do it. Something is calling me there and I have to answer that call. It wouldn't feel quite right to just sit on my ass here when I have the opportunity to do something ream." Matthew said softly, with more confidence than before.

Alfred stared at him.

"So something is telling you that you have to go to some Third World country and waste the best years of your life digging trenches and building latrines," he said bluntly

For some reason, Matthew was not angered by Alfred's tactlessness and it surprised them both when an amused chuckle rose from his throat.

"That's one way of putting it but yes, I think so. Building latrines for the next two years of my life seems okay as long as someone benefits from my actions. And someone certainly will."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow at him and muttered something along the lines of "You're a strange motherfucker", which made Matthew chuckle even louder. For the first time of his life he felt that he was doing something his brother didn't approve of and he relished on the sensation. He also secretly hoped that people would stop treating him like a less-cool version of his sassy brother and finally accept the fact he had an identity of his own once he joined the Peace Corps. But of course he would never admit it openly.

"You are aware that mom and dad will kill you, right?"

"Well, the threat of our parents never stopped you from doing anything so I don't see why it would stop me."

Alfred was about to say that it was not the same thing but Matthew cut him. He suddently wanted to change the subject.

"So now you know why I'm hanging out in the library at two in the morning, but that doesn't explain why _you _are still awake." Matthew said, glad to finally have the upper-hand in the conversation.

Alfred shrugged as he fished for a potato chip in the almost-forgotten bag.

"Couldn't sleep," he said evasively.

"This isn't like you. Is something bothering you?"

Alfred said nothing for a few seconds, then let out a sigh.

"The answer from UC Berkeley. It still hasn't arrived. Most of the colleges I've applied to have sent their acceptance letters in the end of March, but it's already the beginning of April and there's still nothing for me in the mailbox. So yes, it's a bit bothering," he mumbled.

Matthew stared at Alfred, his mouth agape.

"I had no idea it bothered you that much," he said.

"I had no idea you wanted to spend the rest of your life in Tanzania," Alfed replied.

"Fair enough," Matthew chuckled. "But really Alfred, why UC Berkeley? I always thought you wanted to go to New York and Berkeley isn't exactly far from home."

"Dad graduated from there sixteen years ago and I guess I feel a bit duty-bound. Just think about how agonising it would be for dad if his dummy of a son could not even have the same college education as he did," Alfred said with a sheepish grin. _"And how agonising for me",_ he said inwardly.

"But what about the other colleges you applied to?"

"Back-up plans."

"Woah. So I guess you've been thinking about this for some time. Are you planning to work for dad or something?"

Their father owned the third biggest newspaper in California, _The Rising Sun._

"I guess so, but I don't want him to smooth the way for me. I want to prove that I can have a career of my own withotut his help."

Matthew smiled warmly at him.

"It's not like you don't have the potential, Al," he said.

Alfred _did_ have the potential. While maintaining the general appearance of someone who didn't give a fuck, he still managed to keep his grades up and could stand his ground pretty well when confronted. That was what was so amazing about him. Amazing and startling at the same time, when you didn't know him that well. In Matthew's opinion, he was the type of person who could plan things way ahead and not tell anyone about it until it became too obvious.

Despite his apprehensions, Matthew had to admit that talking to his twin brother had appeased him. Alfred went back to his room and Matthew went upstairs shorly after him.

* * *

They never talked about this again during the following days. Alfred was checking the mailbox everyday and Matthew was still waiting for the right time to tell their parents.

Then, the second week of April, when the twins came back from a short trip at San Diego, there was a letter from Berkeley waiting for Alfred in the living room. Their parents had chosen to let Alfred open the letter himself, although they could barely stand the suspense. As predicted, it was an acceptance letter. Among other things, it meant that Alfred's future was secured and that he no longer had to worry about not being good enough. But to Matthew, it meant that he had to inform his parents about his decision. And as predicted, their reaction was far from favourable.

"Are you out of your right mind ?" screamed Beatrice Jones, their mother, as she banged her first on the dinner table for more emphasis. It was quite unnecessary, since her voice was already pretty shrill.

Matthew gently put down his spoon and fork and exhaled heavily. He had rehearsed a little speech for two weeks and there was no reason for him to be impressed now that he had to put it into practice. He spoke slowly, steadily, as he tried to ignore the violently pounding organ in his chest. He gave his mother more or less the same arguments he had used on Alfred, with fairly new additions, one of them being that he could still enroll at college after his two years of service.

Beatrice blinked, open her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"Peter, please say something."

Peter Jones let out a pained sigh.

"You don't have to go that far to prove that you give damn, there living conditions are quite sordid and you aren't even paid for what you are doing. Plus local populations are not always cooperative. They accuse us of neocolonialism, of spying on them and god knows what else. We've had correspondents there for some time and believe me when I tell you this isn't a suitable career for a boy like you. Joining right before college seems rather preposterous to me."

This wasn't quite the clear-cut "no" Beatrice Jones had expected. So she turned to the only other person avaible.

"And you Alfred, what do you have to say about this?"

Alfred had been staring at his half-eaten chicken leg for the past ten minutes and he nearly jumped when he heard his name in the conversation.

"Well, if you ask me my opinion, Matthew has every right to join the Peace Corps if he wants to, even if it means joining right before college. Who knows, perhaps out there he'll learn about new perspectives that will help him make the right decisions when he gets back. And anyway, are you planning to tie him to a chair until he changes his mind?"

Peter Jones seemed to agree with that.

"Alfred is right Beatrice, what can we do if he's really determined to go?"

Matthew could not believe his ears. His father and his brother were both siding with him. Without a word, Beatrice got up and left the dinner table.

Three weeks later, Matthew started his training for Nigeria.

* * *

It felt weird celebrating Thanksgiving without Matthew that year. The living room was full of important people as usual and all they were talking about was the recent business in Vietnam. In October the Bien Hoa airbase had been attacked by the Viet Cong and five Americans had been killed, leaving seventy-six wounded. The current discussion was about whether or not Johnson had been right not to order a retaliation attack. Beatrice Jones strongly believed that all US forces should leave Vietnam at once after two futile years of being there as mere "advisers".

"Considering what happened to the French out there, that would be the most logical thing to do," she said.

"But that's not the same thing, we are smarter than they are," replied Peter Jones. "We could really cripple the North and get away without too much damage if only Johnson could see the sense in that."

It was no secret that Peter Jones was a supporter of Goldwater.

"So you really think that bombing the hell out of Vietnam is the right solution?" she said with a look of disbelief.

"But mom, we can't let the Communists take over the world, can we?" Alfred said.

All the guests that were listening to the conversation seemed to agree on that.

Beatrice looked at her son with a look of utter horror. Alfred strongly suspected that she still resented him for siding with Matthew during the Peace Corps argument.

"Alfred, I don't think you know what you're talking about," she said, her face devoid of blood.

"Of course I know what I'm talking about! This is what the domino effect is all about, isn't it? This is more or less a second Korean War," Alfred replied with confidence.

"Yes, with more or less the same war crimes of we let that happen."

"Oh come on mom, it wouldn't go that far."

Beatrice once again looked at him with horror and pain etched on her face. And Alfred realised that look had nothing to do with Matthew or the Peace Corps.

* * *

In Chrismas 1964 the Viet Cong terrorists bombeb the Brinks Hotel in Saigon and on February 7th Johnson ordered the first major bombing against the North. One month later the first ground combat troops arrived in Danang and two weeks after that the American embassy in Saigon was attacked. At last, Alfred realised that there was cleary something wrong in Vietnam.

The university of Michigan staged the first anti-war teaching and other colleges followed shortly after. Alfred could not recall the exact number of times he'd had his ass dragged down the street and thrown in a paddy wagon during Free Speech Movement sit-ins, but he was pretty sure the American troops were useful in Vietnam. So he didn't go to any of those anti-war teachings while remaining deeply involved with everything else that happened in Berkeley. Most classes he'd picked were involved with journalism and writing in general and so far his grades were good.

Matthew seemed to do pretty well too, according to his letters. He had been in Nigeria for eight months now and even if his living conditions were sometimes precarious, he seemed happy out there doing something that mattered.

In October 1965 a major draft card burning was staged at Berkeley and again Alfred didn't attend. He found it quite revolting that people could do such a thing when soldiers were dying for their country in Vietnam. He wrote his impressions to Matthew that month and was quite surprised to learn that his twin brother did not share his views. Matt didn't believe in the war and for that matter he sided -unknowingly- with Beatrice Jones. Alfred couldn't help wondering if living in Nigeria for so long had altered his brother's patriotism.

In Christmas that year Alfred was shocked to read that the number of troops in Vietnam had escalated to two hundred thousand. Maybe the demonstrators were right after all, perhaps the draft really was making more victims than he initially thought. _No_. He couldn't start thinking like this. It wasn't quite right. What they needed to end this war was more bombs. More bombs to finish off the VC and finally put the war beside them, like a bad memory.

A seemingly uneventful year went by. Alfred was starting his third year at UC Berkeley and he mused on the fact that Matthew would nearly be done with his work in Nigeria. According to the statistics published in _The Rising Sun_, by January 1967 thirty thousand Americans had died in Vietnam, seven hundred were missing and four hundred thousand were still there. It was getting more and more difficult for people to avoid the draft and Alfred finally began to understand what was actually happening. It was a butchery. Boys were shipped to Vietnam everyday only to return in body bags. The very thought of it made him sick.

Although it seemed a rather hypocritical thing to do, Alfred called Matthew that day and told him not to return until things calmed down a bit. He explained to him how the draft board was no longer accepting weddings as a deferral and that whoever flunked out of college was screwed. He knew a few guys to whom it had happened. But Matthew wouldn't listen. He said that he would be there in October 1967 no matter what because he missed them so much. Alfred wanted to say that they would miss him even more if he was shipped to Vietnam and shot by a VC, but he didn't. He didn't because he knew it would be no use.

* * *

"Alfie, I've missed you so much! Oh, man, I have to tell you everything about Nigeria!"

It was October 8th. Matthew had finally returned after twenty seven months of service in the Peace Corps and he couldn't stop babbling about his experience there. He was tanned, thinner, had muscled up a bit and had scars there and there but overall he seemed okay. And he looked happy, too, as he chatted about that time he'd had dysentria so bad he thought he was going to die.

"You look good too, Alfie! And dad told me you were doing wonderful at Berkeley!"

The twin brothers chatted excitedly about the lives they had been living for the past two years and three months and for a few hours, Alfred even forgot about his fears concerning the draft. After the two years he'd spent abroad, perhaps the draft board had forgotten about his brother, lost his track or something like that. He secretly hoped so. It was too late for Matthew to start college this year and he decided he was going to work with their father until September 1968.

Weeks went by without hearing of the draft board and Alfred finally convinced himself that aftet all, they really had lost track of his brother. He relished on the feeling of having his brother here with him, a sensation that he had forgotten after so long. Everything was finally returning back to normal. Even Beatrice Jones seemed happy to have both her sons with her, despite the war she hated still going on.

Alfred felt he had to make something to celebrate. In times like those, when more and more families were counting missing members, their lucky situation was definitely worth celebrating. So he went to the bakery just outside the university and ordered two dozen maple syrup cupcakes, because he knew Matthew loved those. He was still trying to fit the giant box of cakes in his car when he heard the telephone ringing in his appartment. It was Matthew. The draft board had sent a letter that morning. He had been called.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so thank you to my only reviewer, my only follower and the person who favorited my story ^^ The first chapter went unnoticed but I'm still looking forward to write the good Ameviet parts (lemons and shit) so yeah, I'm still updating. This is just the beginning of the story, really. **

**So basically it happens one month after Matthew has been shipped to Vietnam (December 1967, after two months of basic training). If you have trouble understanding what's happening just tell me. Here goes nothing :)  
**

**Chapter 2**

**January 1968**

Ly woke up to the sound of M-60 machine gun exploding into action. The first thing she thought of was to sit up and clutch her stomach in order to check for any wound. The reflex was absurd but when you resided in a war zone you had to live with the constant fear of waking up to find your guts dispersed on the ground. When she was sure that every organ in her body was in its right place, she got up and put on a white shirt and black slacks. Then she tied her hair in a loose ponytail. It was not exactly feminine but that way her hair was less likely to catch the smell of the city. And Danang sure stank, with all its pollution and street corners that reeked of oil and perfume. She was washing her face when Hai -her housekeeper- walked into the room.

"Miss Ly, I think it's time to go."

The girl was sixteen -two years younger than Ly herself- and had a sweet, tanned face. She was wearing black pajamas, which was the trademark of the peasantry. She eyed Ly with interest as the older girl went to the kitchen to toss the soapy water into the sink. Such practices were unknown to most peasant girls. Most of them would just get up in the morning without changing clothes and sleep in the same outfit at night. Washing yourself meant waste of time in the countryside and most people kept this habit even after they'd moved to the city.

"Why don't you wear an_ ao dai_ for a change, Miss Ly? You would look so pretty in one of those!"

"I don't think I'll need something like this for the place where we're going."

"This is different, you are a lady from Saigon. You ought to keep your status!" Hai said naively.

Ly smiled. Most peasant girls thought that wearing make-up and an _ao dai _was the quintessence of sophistication. What Hai didn't know was that if Ly showed up at a military base wearing lipstick and nice clothes, people would probably think she was a hooker or some cheap spy working for the Viet Cong. GIs usually didn't mind her being around but what she was really afraid of were the suspicious Republican soldiers. Most of them didn't hesitate to send children to torture camps like _My Thi _based on ridiculous accusations.

"Do I look like a lady to you, Hai? Dressed like this I'm no different from you," Ly said with a smile.

"Of course you still look like a lady, Miss Ly. Even with peasant clothes you still have fair skin and I don't think I've ever seen any girl with eyes like yours!"

Ly had light brown eyes that appeared amber in the sun. This characteristic was quite common among the French people and GIs she'd met but it was unusual on a Vietnamese face. Ly finished drying her face with a clean towel.

"Come on Hai, let's go!"

The two girls went outside and ran into their landlord who promptly reminded them to pay the rent. They were already two weeks late and the old man was beginning to lose patience.

"If I don't receive the money by next week I'll have to throw you out!" he growled.

Ly knew it was an empty threat, since it would be hard for the landlord to find other tenants during times like those, but she could still feel her cheeks reddening. She was ashamed, so ashamed of her situation that sometimes it was hard for her to keep her head up when she walked in the streets. It was as if the passersby somehow knew what had happened to her family's fortune. Two years ago such a scene would have been preposterous. However, Hai didn't seem to mind her mistress's poverty. Loyalty like hers transcended wages.

The two girls took the bus up Highway 102, got off at a little village and were picked up by two GIs who happened to be going to the same military base. Ly identified the driver as Mike Wilson, a soldier she often came across.

"Good morning Mike," she greeted as she sat at the back of the truck with Hai.

Hai didn't say anything. She was wary of strangers and didn't feel comfortable enough with the English language to say anything more than "hi".

"Oh, hi Ly! Didn't regognise you with that straw hat on your head. Visiting your father I suppose?"

"Yes. Has anything important happened since I last came? You know my father doesn't allow me to come more than once a week. He says it's too dangerous," she said sadly.

"Well maybe he's right," he said grimly. "There was an attack just two days ago, it was as if the whole goddam NVA was there. We managed to drive them off but twelve of our guys were killed and ten were wounded . Your help will be most welcome."

She felt her blood turning cold.

"And my father, is he okay?" she asked.

"Well of course he's okay! You know he hardly does anything else than paperwork. The usual stuff, for the Republican government and shit," he said with a bit of resent.

They rode in silence for the rest of the small trip. Ly thanked Mike as they got out of the truck.

"Anytime," he replied.

When she took a look around, she realised that Mike had indeed told the truth. The red earth had been ravaged by hand grenades and all the trees surrounding the base were riddled with bullets. The base was unusually crowded with freshly arrived GIs -to replace the dead ones, she assumed- and she almost had to fight her way to her father's office, Hai following closely behind her. She rose a fist to knock on the door but then dismissed the idea. Her father certainly wouldn't hear the knock with all the noise outside. Putting aside every notion of politeness, she opened the door.

Phung Sau looked up from the sheet in front of him and a warm smile lit up his wrinkled face. He had more dark circles than she remembered.

"Ly! And Hai too! What a pleasant surprise! Come on, sit down, sit down. What brings you here today?"

Ly smiled. Her father always asked them that stupid question as if seeing him was not a good enough reason to make the small trip from Danang to the military base.

"We came here to see you Papa," Ly replied.

"Well you shouldn't, you know it's way too dangerous around here," Sau said, although he made a horrible job at hiding his happy smile. "So how are things going at the hospital, Ly?"

Ly was currently working as a nurse at the Nha Thuong Vietnamese hospital in Danang. She had gotten the job pretty easily, after only three months of training, since hospitals were so desperately in need of qualified workers. She didn't particularly like the job but she needed the money.

"Same as usual I guess. Lately we've had lots of cases of peasants stepping on mines," she said.

Sau heaved a sigh.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this, Ly. I promise times will soon be better. I can't guarantee ur lifestyle will be the same as it used to be when we were in Saigon, but..."

It broke Ly's heart to see her father like this.

"Don't worry papa, working at the hospital is far from bad. It's safe and the wages are good too."

It wasn't true but at least her father would not be worried.

"And how is your life in the apartment?" he inquired.

"Fine too. Hai prepares the meals and cleans the house while I'm at work."

She didn't tell him about what had happened in the morning and he looked satisfied enough with the elusive answer.

"We heard there was an attack two days ago," said Ly after a moment.

Sau nodded grimly.

"I was right there when it happened," Sau said. "The noise was deafening. The NVA was no match for us, but they still managed to inflict some damage. While you are here you should visit the wounded. Most of them were taken by helicopter to the nearest military hospital but there are still a few of them whose injuries were not serious enough to require retreat. I think your presence will be useful."

Ly nodded.

"Well, see your later papa!"

Since Ly didn't have her first aid kit with her, she sent Hai to fetch one while she made her way to the sand-bags bunker where they usually kept the injured soldiers. In her opinion the place was not well ventilated but at least it was safe enough to have a rest. When she entered the bunker most of the injured soldiers were lying on their beds while chatting with friends who had come to visit them and a few were sleeping. They were all American. Most of them had arms or legs wrapped up in blood-stained bandages, which was a sign that it was time to clean their wounds. They looked pale too and she wondered if they had eaten anything all day.

But rather than a medical examination, most of the soldiers just saw a random girl arriving and blatantly staring at them.

"See something you like, gook?" said one of them. His fellow soldiers snickered.

He was among the healthy grunts who had merely come to visit their injured friends. He had freckles on his face and looked about the same age as Ly. She promply tossed her straw hat aside and quirked an eyebrow at him, revealing her light brown eyes and frank stare. She was used to GIs who thought they could patronise her like that and she was all but impressed.

"Not particularly. Unless you have something equally smart to say, I would like to take a look at your friend. He seems on the verge of passing out," she said smoothly.

The grunts immediately stopped snickering and stared at her as she pointed to the injured soldier's arm.

"See? The wound has not been properly compressed, I can still see blood dripping through the bandage. Bear in mind that this could be as dangerous as a bandage that's been wrapped too tight."

They couldn't help noticing how beautiful she was, and how well she spoke -with hardly any trace of accent. When Hai arrived with the first-aid kit, it at last became clear that she was not a hooker. Half the soldiers muttered under their breath. Most local girls they'd seen were either whores or VC and they couldn't bring themselves to respect a clean girl when they saw one.

"Well, that would be my fault. I try my best to care for everyone at the same time and I guess I've been a bit neglectful," said someone behind her.

She didn't turn around immediately. She was still shocked by how soft that voice had been, so unlike like those of the GIs who had the nasty habit of calling her horrible names behind and in front her back. Perhaps he was just joking. She turned around and stared at him. He was much taller than she was, with a handsome face and blue eyes that shone behind slightly oval glasses. A strand of blond hair fell on his sheepish face and she couldn't help noticing how pretty damn naïve he looked at that instant.

"I've served in the Peace Corps for two years but for some reason my bandage-wrapping technique is still imperfect. I'm Matthew Jones, and you?"

"I'm...I'm Ly."

He extended a hand but she completely forgot to shake it. Ly's mind was spinning. She tucked a tucked an unruly lock of hair behind her ear and licked her lips. By the time she realised how rude she was being, he had already retreated his hand. Her cheeks reddened and she racked her mind to find a way of redeeming herself.

"Well it's not that complicated, I can show you," she said.

"Really? That would be great," he said with a smile.

The uninjured soldiers left the bunker. Matthew and the "gook" girl had ruined their fun. The boy with freckles on his face shot Ly a dirty look, muttered something under his breath and followed the others. Ly dragged a stool towards the soldier whose arm was injured and opened her medical kit. Matthew did the same thing.

"I'm Ly, from Nha Thuong hospital in Danang," she said. Patients usually prefered to know whom they were dealing with. "What's your name?"

"John Wright ma'am."

The boy looked young and uneasy, usually not the kind of persons she had trouble with.

"Well John, please extend your arm."

He did as he was told and Ly unwrapped the bandage, revealing a large and nasty cut that was still oozing blood.

"I'm sorry if I didn't make a good job at cleaning the cut," Matthew said.

Ly wasn't sure whether he was apologising to her or to John.

"Actually you did a good job at cleaning it, since it's not oozing pus. I'll put some desinfectant on it then show you how to bandage properly."

She opened the bottle of disinfectant and an acrid smell filled the room.

"By the way, you did a great job at shutting them up," Matthew whispered.

"Uh?"

She was busy trying to figure out wheter the cut needed to be sewn or not.

"Tommy and his friends."

Ly guessed he was talking about the guy with freckles on his face.

"Oh, him? Things like that happen all the time."

"You mean it doesn't shock you?"

"Used to, not anymore. When I was a little girl it didn't matter to my French teachers in Saigon whether I had slanted eyes or not. When I heard racial slurs for the first time I had to look for their meaning in the dictionary. Quite funny, isn't it?"

Ly chuckled humourlessly in a way that was too grown-up for her young age. Matthew instantly looked embarrassed.

"So you went to a French school in Saigon," Matthew said to change the subject.

"Those were old times. There were a few British teachers too. The war is a good occasion to pratice English."

Her face was blank and for a second Matthew was not sure whether she was joking or not. Then the corners of her mouth twitched and she cracked an almost imperceptible smile.

"How old are you, Matthew?"

He seemed startled by the sudden question.

"Twenty one, why?

"Really? I would never have given you more then nineteen. You look so... I don't know, innocent?"

Matthew smiled sheepishly, which had the effect of making him look even more childish.

"I've only been here for one month, so I guess I still have time to toughen up a bit!"

_Only been here for one month? Wait, what...? _

"But I thought the US government never sent paramedics in December!"

"Hahaha, I'm not a paramedic! I'm just a regular grunt."

"So you're doing all this willingly?" she asked sceptically.

"You really sound like my brother when you say that!"

Now that the cut was clean she had a much clearer view on the damage inflicted to the skin. Fortunately, it would not require sewing.

"Okay so now I'm going to bandage the wound. Watch closely."

And he indeed watched carefully, even asking some questions to make sure he understood perfectly.

"So, do you get it now?" she asked when she was finally done.

"I think so."

"Perfect, because there are five more people who need our help. Come on, lets not waste time!"

* * *

When they at last finished patching up everyone it was already noon. She had no desire whatsoever to have lunch with the soldiers so she started packing her things in order to leave the bunker. She remembered her father saying he had a meeting with other Republicans officers so they would probably not see each other for a couple hours. Perhaps she could find Hai or something... but it was unlikely since the girl usually desappeared in the morning and only showed up when it was time to leave in the afternoon. Ly sighed. She would probably just have to buy a cheap bowl of rice soup and eat by herself unless someone decided to keep her company.

"Miss Ly, may I ask where you are going?"

Matthew's voice was so low that she could barely register what he was saying. She was not even sure he had said something.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I was just asking you where you were going," he repeated, cheeks flaming up.

"Oh, I don't know. I'll probably just find a shady place to take a rest until my father finishes his meeting," she said.

"Well, would you mind if I kept you company?" he asked shyly.

"I guess not."

It was rather unexpected but she didn't complain. He was one of the few people who treated her with some respect in the military base so she didn't really mind spending time with him. And he looked safe too, not the kind of guy to try a funny move once they would be alone. Numerous visits at the base had made her wary of GIs but Matthew just didn't seem to be a threat to anybody.

As they made their way through the base many soldiers greeted Matthew and a few shot flirtatous glances her way. She made her best to ignore them. If those horny GIs were looking for a quick relief it would certainly not be provided by her.

"Don't you think this place would be great?"

She had been focusing so hard on walking without looking sideways that she had to look at him to know what he was talking about. He was pointing at enormous crates that seemed to lie there unattended. They would make suitable benches. Plus the trees above them provided shade, which was probably the best thing of all.

"Yes, it's very nice," she said with a smile. "Just sit there, I'll go buy the lunch."

"Oh no, that wouldn't be proper! You sit there! Just show me where to buy the food."

She wasn't sure she had the money to buy food for two persons so she welcomed his proposition with great relief.

"There's a stall not very far from here, just outside the base. Just follow the path we took to came here and turn left," she explained.

He raised a thumb at her and went off. For a moment she just enjoyed being there, the warm breeze tickling her back while she inhaled the smell of the trees and the red earth. Here it was the true essence of the Vietnamese central coast, not the stink of Danang. If she closed her eyes she could almost recall herself spending her holidays there with her papa, back in a time when she did not have to worry about staying alive. Blessed memories.

He came back shortly after a steaming bowl of _pho _in each hand. It made her laugh to think about how difficult it must have been for him to move wih those without spilling soup. From the smell of the noodles she could tell he'd bought something more expensive than the regular dish she usually ordered. The smell of minced pork made her mouth water.

"May I ask you how many piasters you had to pay for two bowls? I don't really trust the stallholder, he sometimes tries to charge me more than he should."

"I paid him with a couple of greenbacks, he seemed happy enough."

She nearly choked on the noodles. The American currency was worth a fortune.

"But that's way too much!"

He chuckled lightly.

"Don't be too serious about this, those dollars have been sitting in my wallet for weeks now. I'm happy to finally spend them, especially for such an occasion."

For a moment they sat in silence and sipped their soup, enjoying the feeling of finding a kindred spirit in the midst of war.

"So you said you have a brother?" Ly asked.

"Oh, you still remember that?"

He seemed surprised. She assumed people usually never paid attention to what he said.

"Yes, his name's Alfred."

"Does he look like you?"

"He's my twin, but in my opinion we don't really look the same. There's that look in his eyes and... well, let's just say he's extrovert."

She tried to picture Matthew with a big grin on his face and speaking really loudly, which made her giggle.

"It must be really hard for you to be away from him," she said more soberly. "They say you can't divide a pool of blood."

"Yes... sometimes it's really hard. I had just gotten back from my mission for the Peace Corps and merely weeks later there was that damn letter waiting for me in the mailbox. It was like a nightmare. And I can never forget that look Alfred gave me that day... there was fright, pain, and... something I can't quite put a name on. It was the first time I saw him so serious. He suggested crazy things too, like hiding in Canada until the draft stopped. But what he doesn't know is that once you go there you can never come back. It's better to survive this one year tour and go back so my life can finally start."

Ly listened silently, analysing his words and nodding from from time to time. When she felt he was going to say no more, she asked:

"And your parents?"

He smiled sadly at her and reached inside his wallet.

"I have a picture of them."

It was the photograph of a middle-aged couple sitting in a well decorated living-room. The woman was short and thin, with blond hair kept in a bun. Except for the severe expression on her face, she looked much like Matthew. It was the same type of blond good looks. The man had fair hair and was tall and lean. Ly could guess Matthew came from a wealthy family. She looked up from the photograph and shot a glance at Matthew. His expression made her sad. It was the kind of expression she usually had when she could not visit her father for long periods of times.

"You don't believe in the war, do you?" Ly suddenly asked.

"Do you?" he echoed.

She was about to answer when she was interrupted by a loud greeting.

"Miss Phung Ly, what a pleasant surprise!"

Ly looked up and regognised the unpleasant form of General Hoa in fatigues. They had met a few months ago during her first trip at the military base and she couldn't stand him. He was about eight years older than her and came from a wealthy family in Saigon, just like her. Except that he still had his fortune whereas she was penniless. Meaning that he was here because he actually _believed_ in the war. He always had a conceited expression that made her want to turn her back and walk away, which she usually did. But since she was sitting, she was in no position to do so. Perhaps she could just pretend she hadn't seen him. He extended his hand and she was forced to shake it. Feeling his moist skin against hers made her cringe slightly.

"Dear Ly, how about we go to my office for a small chat?"

He was completely ignoring the fact that she was not alone, which was extremely rude. People like Hoa thought they had the right to boss people around, which was one of the things she disliked the most about him.

"But general Hoa, I..."

"Okay, I think I get it. Thank you for your time Ly," Matthew said.

Hoa had been speaking Vietnamese the whole time but it seemed that Matthew had understood what the conversation was about.

"No, Matthew, please, I..."

But he was already getting up and dusting off his pants. Ly was disappointed that Matthew was giving up so easily when she obviously didn't want to go with General Hoa. He wasn't just giving up, he wasn't even _trying_.

Hoa was pulling her by the arm to make her stand up. She angrily drew her hand back. Was he trying to drag her to his office?

"All right all right, I'm coming!"

Hoa smiled condescendingly at her.

"Follow me," he said.

She sighed but followed him anyway. Her spirit sank when she saw Matthew's silhouette disappaering in a crowd of soldiers. How could someone with so little self confidence survive in Vietnam?

They finally arrived in Hoa's office, which was a lot wider and better furnished than her father's.

"I hope you are not sleeping with that soldier, that would be inappropriate," he said as she sat in a chair.

Ly opened her eyes wide.

"I'm sorry but what?"

That was completely unprofessional. She had been wrong to come.

"You heard me right. From now on I don't want you to talk to any of them," he said.

What was the meaning of all this? Five minutes ago they had been barely aware of each other's existence and now he was ordering her around. Perhaps Hoa's important status was making him lose touch with reality.

"I don't know what kind of sick joke this is, but it's not funny," she said curtly.

She was starting to get up but he stopped her by placing a hand on her knee.

"I don't think I told you you could leave."

"I don't think I need your permission," she said icily. "Your rank may be higher than my father's but that doesn't mean you can treat me as your personal property."

"I beg to differ," he said smoothly and to prove his point he viciously squeezed her knee.

"You make me sick," she said as she pushed his hand away. "My father will be bitterly disappointed in you."

He laughed mockingly at her comment.

"That would be unlikely, since your father is the one who begged me to take you as my personal bitch. Just look at yourself! Do you think you have the luxury of turning down propositions from the only man who could save you from your poor life in Danang? Now you'd better think about that before opening that insolent mouth of yours."

She stared dumbfounded at him.

"My father would never have said that!"

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"You are even stupider than I though, Phung Ly. Now shut up before I reconsider my decision."

He leaned forward to kiss her but instead was met by Ly's fist as she punched him in the mouth.

"Never, never, never!" she yelled at the top of her voice, trying to convince herself that all of this was a nightmare.

She got up and tried to run but she was stopped by Hoa's firm grip on her ponytail.

"Stay where you are, bitch. You are going to pay for this," he said as his lips spilled blood.

He raised a hand to slap her. At this precise moment, the earth started to shake under their feet and they both stood there, startled. The base was under attack. Seizing this opportunity, she kicked him in the shin and broke into a run.


	3. Chapter 3

**Reviews are greatly appreciated :)**

**Chapter 3**

The noise was deafening and the bright flashes of exploding grenades dazzled her. She could barely register what was happening, except that fast-moving GIs were running all over the place, sometimes pushing her aside if she somehow got in their way. How could that even be possible? One minute they had all been sitting there casually, finishing their lunches and telling stories to friends and now they were rushing to the combat zones, armed to the teeth and ready to kill. She guessed military training had that effect on them. It was as if they were not human anymore, only death machines that could be switched on and off. She tumbled to the ground when someone pushed her with unnecessary force.

"Just what the fuck are you doing? Go hide in a bunker or you're gonna get killed for sure, you idiot!" someone yelled above her.

She squinted and realised it was Tommy, the boy with freckles on his face. It was funny, how he could worry about her safety and still act like a jerk at the same time.

"What's happening?" she yelled above the noise.

She wasn't stupid, she knew the base was being attacked but she felt something was a bit.. _off_. She had noticed the soldiers were not rushing in a general direction, as if the danger was everywhere at once. But that couldn't be possible, right...?

"The NVA's crossed the north border of the base, we have to retain them and prevent them from overflanking the south border at the same time," he yelled before desappearing.

So she had been right after all. They were surrounded by soldiers of the North Vietnamese Army, which meant that no one was no longer safe. Hiding in a bunker wouldn't change a single thing if the enemy managed to take over the base. Except perhaps a slow and painful death at the hands of the Viet Cong once they found her, frightened and begging for her life. She'd rather die than experience something like that. She promply got up and broke into a run. She didn't care where she was going as long as it was away from General Hoa.

She had not moved two miles when she fell to the ground for the second time that day. A grenade had exploded next to her and the sudden shock had caused her to lose her balance. She glanced sideways and took a glimpse at the enormous crater generated by the explosion. It could have been her lying in the middle of it, her body reduced to a bloody pulp and impossible to identify.

"Aaaaah!"

Someone had screamed. Sick with fear and heart pounding in her chest, she tried to crawl in the direction of the sound. She was afraid of getting up. Perhaps the person who had thrown the grenade at her would not miss her this time, maybe there were snipers hidden somewhere. She didn't want to take the risk. She successfully managed to reach the injured person.

It was a boy of about her age, with mousy hair and bright blue eyes. His arm had been blown off by the explosion. She came to the cold realisation that he had been the one targetted, not her. So the operation had been successful after all. He had already lost so much blood that it would be no use for her to try and stop the haemorrhage.

"I-..I- why...?"

Why? There were a dozen things she could answer. Because it was almost impossible to dodge a grenade that had been lauched from such a distance. Because he had been drafted at a young age to fight a war he didn't begin to understand. Because in times like those no one could distinguish a kid wearing a uniform from a soldier willing to fight for his country. However, she answered nothing of that.

"Sshhh... close your eyes, it's going to be all right," she said soothingly.

She realised she didn't even know his name. It made her want to cry. He deserved much more than that for his last instants.

"Martha... oh Martha..."

Who was Martha? Perhaps his sister, maybe his lover. The second option seemed more likely. Again, her helplessness made her want to scream. How could she help him go through this traumatising experience when she didn't know anything about him? She find herself wishing for his imminent death. He was suffering too much and she wasn't helping him.

"Focus about something you love... focus on Martha... she will help you go through this."

"Martha... I... wish..."

The rest of his words were drowned in his own blood and moments after he was dead, eyes humid with tears. She closed his eyes. She took a shaky breath and got up, oblivious of her previous fears of being shot. She had seen many people dying in the hospital, but it was nothing compared to this. A soldier dying on duty was all alone and passed away in atrocious pain, whereas people in the hospital usually had their family to accompany them in their last moments.

She found herself wiping away tears. The young soldier's blue eyes reminded her of Matthew's. She hoped he was all right. And thinking about Matthew reminded her of her father. Oh god, what could he be doing now? He usually didn't fight but what if they needed him this time? Fear ungulfed her once again.

What was she supposed to do now? Find her father? Perhaps it was the best solution. She didn't care if it was dangerous, no place was safe anyway. She broke into a run, making her best not to step on the bloody corpses along the way. It was sickening, how the NVA managed to throw explosives inside the base from such a distance. Some of them had killed civilians who had happened to be there by sheer rotten luck. It was a miracle that she was still in one piece when she reached her father's office. The door was open but there was no one inside. She had a bad feeling about this.

"Ly! What are you doing here?" someone said behind her.

She turned around. The unfamiliar form of a soldier holding a rifle and holding a helmet faced her. She realised it was Matthew. He didn't look like himself when prepared for combat.

"I'm looking for my father! Have you seen him?"

She knew he probably didn't know what her father looked like but asking couldn't hurt.

"The point is that shouldn't be out there! Come with me, I'll escort you to safety."

"There's nowhere safe anyway!"

She stepped back. She had the feeling that Matthew was not going to give up so easily.

"Ly, please lis-"

He didn't finish his sentence. A bomb exploded in the vicinity, followed by the sound of bullets being shot their way. Before she could even process what was happening, Matthew pulled her by the arm and she found herself running along with him. It was hard to keep up but it was the price to pay if she didn't want to be slaughtered. He never let got of her arm, which allowed her to look sideways while she ran. There were injured people everywhere, those whose reflexes were not good enough. War was a little bit about that: smelling the danger before everyone else.

Then something attracted her attention. There was an injured man by the roadside. She coud not distinguish his features but judging from his uniform, chances were that it was her father. Ly felt her blood turning cold. She had to know. Breaking free from Matthew's grip on her arm, she ran towards the injured man.

"Ly, come back!"

But she wouldn't listen. Putting aside her sense of self-preservation, she crouched next to the man. There was no doubt possible now: it was her father. His eyes were closed and he was clutching a wound on his belly. She could see blood dripping through his hand. Big tears formed into Ly's eyes.

"Papa! Papa!"

Sau's eyelids twitched and he cracked his eyes open. The black eyes that once had been so full of love had a glossy appearance that scared her.

"Ly... my child..."

His voice came out as a breathless whisper.

"Papa, it's going to be all right. Let me see your wound papa, I'm sure I can do something!"

Sau smiled sadly at her. He knew she was deluding herself.

"There's nothing you can do for me, Ly. We were both prepared for this."

"No that's not true, I'm not ready Papa! Don't leave me!"

Her sobs were stifling her voice, which came out like a violent hiss. But she was sure he had got the point.

"Ly, I talked to General Hoa. He will take care of you, I promise. Now run to safety."

So it was true after all. Her father had placed her fate in General Hoa's hands. But could she really tell him how awful that man really was? She couldn't muster herself to do it. What use would it be, anyway?

"Papa... papa..." was all she could manage to say as she sobbed over her father's chest.

Matthew pulled her by the arm. She angrily snapped his hand away.

"Don't touch me! I'm not abandonning my father!"

"Look Ly, I know it's hard but it's not the best solution. He wants you to live."

"Don't talk about him as if he was dead! You don't even know him!"

Matthew pulled harder and this time she was forced to get up. She was no match when it came to strength.

"What are you doing? Let go of me! LET GO!"

She tried to punch him, to kick him, even to bite him but all her efforts had no other effect besides making her look completely hysterical. And then she saw it. The big, fat bomber hovering above them like a metallic prey bird. That was it. They were going to bomb the hell out of the base because no base at all was better than a base ruled by the NVA. The plane flew in the direction of the jungle, but it was still pretty damn close to them. She closed her eyes. She didn't want to see the impact. Suddenly, it was as if there was nothing but void under her feet. She opened her eyes. She guessed the bomb had finally made contact with the soil. She caught a glimpse of Matthew's blue eyes before passing out.

* * *

At first she didn't remember anything. Then the memories hit her like hot bullets piercing her skin. Her father was dead. An incontrollable sob escaped her throat.

"Miss Ly! Miss Ly you're awake!" someone said.

Ly tried to blink the tears away. They were making her vision blurry.

"Hai, is that you?"

The young girl held Ly's hand with hysterical relief.

"Yes Miss Ly, it's me."

"Where are we?"

"The military hospital, Miss."

Ly took a look around. She was surrounded by GIs lying on beds, but this time she was among them. How ironical.

"Hai, what happened?"

"I- I was visiting my native village, Ky La, when the attack happened. I took the first bus to the military base but when I arrived it was already over. The bomb had killed all the soldiers of the NVA, and many American GIs too. The ones who happened to be in the vicinity. And... and... when I saw you, you were lying on the ground. I think the force of the impact is responsible for your fainting fit. But overall you are okay."

"But why am I here? This hospital is supposed to be for the soliders only."

"It's General Hoa who took you here. That's very kind of him. Do you want me to call him? He looks forward to talking to you."

Ly felt her blood turning cold. Hoa's last words replayed in her head: _"You are going to pay for this." _

"No Hai, don't. We must leave at once."

"But why? It was your father's wish that General Hoa takes care of you. You can't do that to your father. Poor Phung Sau."

Hai started to cry. Ly shook her head, slightly annoyed. They didn't have time for this.

"No Hai, I'm sorry but it's very urgent. We can't stay here."

Taking Hai's hand, she headed for the exit of the hospital. She still felt shaky but she made her best not to show it. Hai would use any excuse to make her stay. As she had predicted, there were military trucks parked outside. It seemed like one of vehicles was about to go.

"Excuse me sir, are you going to Danang?" she said to the driver.

The driver looked startled by that strange girl's sudden apparition.

"Errr... yes,why?"

"Then do you mind taking both of us with you? I'm not familiar of the surroundings, I don't know where to catch a bus to the city."

He looked like he wanted to ask her what she was doing in the military hospital in the first place but he didn't. He shrugged. She didn't look like a threat.

"Okay then. Jump in."

"Thank you very much."

The trip to Danang was rather short. Once they arrived, they headed directly to their appartment. Ly started to franctically pack her things. Hai watched her with a startled expression.

"Miss Ly, what are you doing?"

"Packing. We have to leave Danang at once. We're going to Saigon. Otherwise General Hoa will find me. It's not that hard for him. And now that I have no father to protect me... god knows what he will do."

"But General Hoa is a good man, why don't you accept his offer? He promised to help both of us. Why are you doing this? I don't understand."

Big tears started to form in Hai's eyes.

"General Hoa is not a good man, Hai. Trust me."

"Good man or not he is our only chance of survival."

Hai was sniffing. She didn't understand why her mistress was turning down such an opportuniy. Ly didn't bother to answer.

"Hai, please go fetch our savings," she ordered.

The young girl was still crying but she obeyed nevertheless. She came back with a small purse. Ly opened it and started counting the money. There was just enough to pay for one plane ticket. She licked her lips. What now?

"Hai... there's not enough for both of us."

There was a silence. Ly's mind was spinning. She coudn't possibly abandon Hai, could she?

"Then... then go Miss Ly. If it's what you want."

Hai's voice was shaky. And there was something in her tone that she had never heard before. Was that... bitterness? No, she must have imagined it... Hai never was bitter.

"Thank you, Hai."

She didn't have the strenght to argue.

"I will send you money for your own ticket once I earn enough money. I promise."

The following day, Ly was flying back to Saigon, after almost one year away from her native city. She was penniless, but at least she was away from General Hoa. Now what was she supposed to do? The only decent job she was offered was as a hostess in an officers bar. She shed a few tears when the memory of her father came back to her mind. It was not what he had wanted for her. And she thought about Matthew. She hoped he was all right.

* * *

**San Francisco, the same day**

They were in the middle of a family dinner (or at least the closest thing to it since Matthew's departure) when the telephone rang. Peter Jones promptly got up.

"Hello? Yes, this is Peter Jones. I..."

There was silence. Alfred and his mother looked into each other's eyes. It was very unusual. Alfred's stomach tightened. He had a bad feeling about this. After an interminable moment, Peter Jones came back to the dinner table. He had tears in his eyes. Suddenly, Alfred was no more hungry. He felt the bile rising in his throat before his father even had the chance to speak.

"It was about Matthew... he's... The base he worked in was attacked. His body will be shipped back in two days. "

It was too much for Alfred. He ran to the bathroom and vomitted as soon as his knees made contact with the cold tiles. He could hear his mother's hysterical sobs and his father trying to cover them with his own voice.

"Beatrice, Beatrice please calm down... "

Alfred's teeth sunk into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he tried to stifle his own screams. He punched the tiles several times as bitter tears formed in his eyes. One month. One fucking month. Matthew had lasted exactly once month before those bastards finally got him. He shakily got up and made his way back to the dining room. His father was still trying to comfort his mother.

"Beatrice... you should be proud of him... He died a hero."

Before Alfred could even stop himself, his fist made contact with the dinner table. Several plates fell to the ground, adding to the noise of his mother's hysterical crying.

"SHUT UP! He didn't die a hero! There's nothing heroic in this! He died for no fucking reason! It doesn't make any sense! THE WAR MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE!"

His father stared at him, as if he was the one who had taken the blow instead of the table.

"Alfred... don't say that. Don't say that."

"Shut up!"

Alfred was disgusted with his father. And he was disgusted with himself. He hated himself for the way he had been thinking for the past years. He had been persuaded that bombing the hell out of Vietnam was the right choice. He had been a silent supporter of Goldwater's politic. And it was only now that he realised how stupid he had been. Matthew had not died for ideological beliefs. He had died because the US government was just too proud to admit that the situation in Vietnam was hopeless. Too proud or simply too foolish. Stupid America. Always trying to be the hero. Stupid Alfred, for supporting those atrocities. Stupid Peter Jones, for still believing in those atrocities.

Alfred sank to his knees.

"If only I had not supported his project of joining the Peace Corps... then he would have gone to college with me and... he would not have..."

He looked up when he felt a small hand on his shoulder. It was Beatrice Jones'.

"Don't do that Alfred... Don't blame yourself... I could blame myself too. If we do that, it will drive us crazy."

She tried to smile through her tears. It was just like Beatice Jones, to try to act like a mother even when the world was crumbling. Alfred let himself cry.

* * *

Many people had attended the service. It had been beautiful, full of flowers and loving prayers. Everyone had said nice things about Matthew. Things they should have said when he was still alive. If he had heard all those nice things, then perhaps he would not have felt the need to join the Peace Corps in order to prove that he was someone.

_No_... His mother was right... if he started to think like that, he would go crazy.

That night, when Alfred lied in his bed, he felt like nothing was important anymore. He had no desire to return to Berkeley whatsoever, even if he loved it there and his grades were good. He wanted answers. He wanted to know what had happened exactly, to feel what Matthew had felt, to breath the same air as him when he took his last breath... or rather when his last breath was taken from him. He desperately needed that, or all those questions would haunt him for the rest of his life. No one had told him how it had really happened, they just knew that he had been shot. There were million of possibilies. It could have been a Viet Cong sniper, a soldier of the NVA, even "friendly" fire.

After a sleepless night, Alfed got dressed and went directly to his father's office at the _Rising Sun. _He didn't even bother knocking. Peter looked up from his sheet of paper, a forlorn look on his exhausted face.

"Oh... it's you Alfred. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Berkeley? "

It irritated him, the way his father tried to sound normal, as if his son didn't die a mere week ago.

"I don't think I'll go back there, dad."

"What? Look Alfred, I know it's hard but life must go on. You are only two semesters from graduation for heaven's sake!"

"I won't go back. Not now, not ever. I want to be a correspondent in Vietnam," he said bluntly.

Alfred watched his father's face turning red.

"What? Are you out of your mind? I will never -ever- let you do something like that. You can count on someone else's newspaper."

"You don't understand. I didn't come here to ask for permission. It's a statement. I'm going to Vietnam whether you like it or not."

"But no one will hire you!"

"I can sell my stories there and there. That's not a problem."

"Alfred... you will not do that..."

"Think you can stop me?"

Peter stared at his son. Alfred cringed. His father looked so... weak. It was the first time he noticed how pathetic he looked, the same men who had believed in bombing the hell out of Vietnam.

"Alfred... why are you doing this? Are you trying to commit suicide?"

A tear rolled down Peter's wrinkled face.

"No... I'm not. I just want answers. I can't seat on my ass here when terrible things are happening there. I have to do it. For myself."

Peter Wilson heaved a sigh.

"At least if I'm the one sending you, I can do my best to protect you."

Alfred smiled. He had won.

"Thank you dad."

"Come back to my office tomorrow. I will give you further details. And please... please don't tell your mother. I will speak to her myself."

Alfred nodded and left. The following day, his father told him all about a correspondent's life in Vietnam. He tried to dissuade him from going, but in the end he knew Alfred was determined. His trip was scheduled on February 5th. They had given him six months. Six months to find answers. Six months to seek salvation.

* * *

**So, things are finally getting interesting :3 Alfred and Ly meet each other in the next chapter. What the hell is gonna happen?  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Alfred arrived at Saigon at five am local time, and all he could think about was the fact that Matthew had come this way a little less than two months before. As the plane came down, all he could see was artillery... probably tracer bullets going off somewhere in the vicinity. He made a mental note to make some inquiries about them later.

When he got off the plane, he received funny looks from disembarking soldiers. Alfred was of draft age and they were probably wondering why he was dressed so casually instead of wearing fatigues and military boots like all the other GIs. Alfred made no attempt to justify himself. There was no need to, anyway. He felt the liquids in his stomach turn sour when he noticed that most of the freshly arrived soldiers looked younger than himself, which was really disturbing since Alfred was just twenty one. What kind of sick joke was that? Boys who had just finished high school, _really_?

He breathed heavily through his nose. He couldn't lose his temper right now, or he would never make it to his hotel. Once he was outside the airport, he hailed a taxi.

"Hôtel Continental, please," he said to the driver, a toothless man who could have been anywhere between the age of thirty and fifty.

"You soldier? You GI?" the driver asked.

"No, I'm a journalist. A... _baochi_."

Alfred didn't know if he had pronounced the Vietnamese word right, but he was pretty sure that the driver didn't care. As the toothless man didn't say another word, Alfred got inside the taxi and the driver started the car.

"So... you looking for girl?"

"No. Just take me to the Hôtel Continental, please."

"I can drive you to Pink Club, if you want. I pick you up anytime you want."

"No, really, I'm not interested."

The driver stayed silent for a moment. When Peter Jones had warned him about this kind of situation, Alfred had assumed that his father was merely exaggerating. But it seemed like life in Saigon really was as sordid as his father had described...

"You wanna buy Mary Jane?"

"No."

"Cigarette?"

"No... thanks."

Alfred leaned against the door and pretended to sleep. It seemed like the best idea right now. After nearly thirty minutes, the driver pulled over and Alfred was finally free of the man's oppressing presence. He paid in piasters. He had a feeling that he'd better save his greenbacks for a better occasion.

The Hôtel Continental was a tall building with large windows, obviously inspired by French architecture. Nearly everything in Saigon was, anyway. With a little imagination, you could pretend you were in Paris. Well, except for the heat. And the smell. What was that stink, anyway? It smelled like... cheap perfume and gunpowder.

He dragged his suitcase inside the hall and went straight the desk, hoping to find someone who could speak decent English.

"Jones," he gave his name to the female desk clerk.

The girl looked dumbly at him.

"You Mrs Jones?"

What? _Mrs_? Did "Jones" sound like a female name? He heard two people laughing somewhere behind him. He rolled his eyes. He really didn't have time for that. All he wanted was a shower and a bed.

"Alfred Jones. From the_ Rising Sun,_" he said, making sure to articulate.

The girl checked the register and her face lit up.

"Oh. Jones. Okay."

She signaled for a boy who couldn't have been more than eight and gave him the key to a room on the fourth floor. As he followed the boy upstairs, he caught a glimpse of two European men who were watching him with amused faces. One of them, a tall blond with bushy eyebrows, mouthed "Mrs Jones" as Alfred came past them. What a dick. Alfred heaved an infuriated sigh.

It was seven local time when Alfred finally got to bed, after a quick shower in lukewarm water. The room was not exactly what he would call "clean", but at least it was spacious. He was pretty sure it was the best hotel avaible anyway.

He slept fitfully that morning and woke up after three hours of restless fidgeting. He decided to unpack. Since he was going to live here for six months, he might as well try to get used to the new time zone. It was a little past ten when he was finished. He had managed his time pretty well, meaning that he still had the rest of the morning and all the afternoon to do whatever he wanted. And right now, he wanted to eat.

"Time for breakfast!" he hummed.

He went downstairs to the hotel restaurant, which happened to only serve French cuisine. He felt a pang of disappointment. The man sitting three tables away seemed to notice his expression, as he got up and promply came to him.

"May I?" he asked, pointing to the empty chair across Alfred.

"Hmmm, yes," Alfred replied without looking up from the menu.

"You should try the _consommé_. Or perhaps a _velouté_. It suits people with a small _appétit_."

Alfred laughed at the suggestion.

"The thing is, my appetite is the exact opposite of 'small' right now. And none of this seems to be very... sustaining. I think I'll settle for an omelette. Or perhaps two. By the way, my name is Al-"

He stopped mid-sentence. He had just realised that the man who was sitting across him was the friend of the European guy with bushy eyebrows. This one had blond hair that fell on his shoulders and a stubble.

"Oh, nevermind. I think you already know," Alfred said a bit coldly.

"Hahaha, there's no need to make that face. It was the _Angliche'_s fault, not mine. My name is Francis Bonnefoy, from _Le Figaro._"

"_Le Figaro_? That's a good paper," Alfred said, frankly impressed.

"Only good papers have the privilege to send their journalists here, _mon cher_."

"And your friend, is he a journalist too? I think you said he was English."

"Haha, Arthur? He works for the Associated Press. And he's _not my friend._"

"Really? But you too seemed pretty close when I saw you this morning."

"Let's just say we Europeans like to stick together when there's no one else for company. But things are going to change, since you've joined the party."

Francis caressed Alfred's hand with the tips of his fingers. The American recoiled.

"Hem... I think I'd rather leave you Europeans between yourselves," he said.

"Hahaha, don't worry, there's always room for one more person if we _squeeze_ a bit."

"Too bad I'm from San Francisco."

"Marvellous! Well, see you around."

Francis blowed him a kiss and left.

"_What an oddball..."_ Alfred thought.

* * *

Alfred was supposed to report at the Associated Press office as soon as he arrived, but he had to admit he had no clue which way to go. And Francis had mentioned that the limey bastard worked there, which made him even less eager to go. He remembered the way the Frenchman had caressed his hand. Ewww. Was he and Arthur...? Ewww. Double ewww.

At last, he was picked by a truck of MPs who dropped him off in front of the Eden Building, a place near a huge military statue. He made sure to remember the exact location of the building, using the statue as a point of reference.

He showed his papers and ID to the AP desk clerk, who told him that a certain Mr Kirkland was waiting for him in office 13. He was crestfallen when he recognised Arthur.

"Hi. I think we already know each other?" Arthur said with a smug smile.

"Yeah..."

"Great. Now we can start the serious discussion without further ado."

"I guess."

"Your newspaper hasn't sent your first assignment yet. All I know is that they want you out of the combat zones as much as possible."

"What?! But then how am I supposed to write my stories?"

"I didn't say it was compulsory, that's just an advice they gave you. And anyway, where are you exactly planning to go with that kind of outfit?"

Arthur pointed at Alfred's shirt and beige pants.

"What _kind_ of outfit? We're dressed exactly the same!" Alfred said.

"But didn't you say you wanted to go to the combat zones? Don't you know that you need to wear fatigues and combat boots to get there? In case you step on a booby trap, you know."

"Then... how am I supposed to get that?"

"The Post Exchange office. Or the black market. It depends."

"What's the difference?"

"Are you willing to wear material that has been taken from a dead GI's body? If yes, I suggest you to go the black market. You'll save a few piasters. If no, then go to the PX office. Their equipment is fresh."

"Christ."

"Oh come on greenseed, that's just the beginning. Oh! I almost forgot. You ought to be back at five pm. "

"For what?"

"You'll soon find out. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with General Simons at Cu Chi base."

"You write articles too?"

Arthur quirked an eyebrow.

"What do you think I do all day, sit on my ass and wait for blokes like you? That's only a minor part of my job."

Alfred didn't say anything. The more Arthur talked, the more he felt like punching his mouth. Then the Englishman said something very unexpected.

"I now realise that my attitude could have seemed a bit... patronising. Do you want to come with me?"

"Of course! Thanks..." Alfred couldn't believe his ears. Maybe Arthur was not that bad, after all...

"Great."

A military truck was waiting for them outside. As they rode to Cu Chi base, Arthur gave Alfred some advice.

"Always remember to have your press card with you. It can save your life in case the NVA takes you hostage. And trust me, it happens more often than they care to tell you."

"I've actually heard about that. Horror stories of people returning with missing limbs and fungus in their hair... it's quite gruesome. By the way, didn't you say that we needed to be dressed military style to enter a base?"

"Like I've already told you, we're merely going for an interview. We'll have plenty of time to visit the front line once you've acquired some experience, _greenseed_."

"Okay... and who's General Simons anyway?"

Alfred felt very dumb for asking this question, but he couldn't recall that name. And it wasn't like he hadn't made his research! He couldn't remember doing anything besides research on Vietnam during the few weeks preceding his departure.

"Andrew Simons, responsible for the defense of Saigon since the Tet offensive. If we had our heads blown off by an explosion within the limits of the city, it would legitimately be his fault."

"Your optimism baffles me."

"That's just one way of putting it. This job is incredibly dangerous, it about time you realised it."

"I _know_ it's dangerous and I'm perfectly okay with that, thank you. But why are _you_ here? Why would you be risking your life for a country that isn't even yours?"

"I don't think it's your business," replied the Englishman coldly.

Alfred made a mental note to investigate that later. For some reason, Arthur had piqued his curiosity. But for now, he'd better not antagonize him. This guy seemed to have one hell of a temper...

They at last arrived to the base. Surprisingly enough, no one checked their identities. Arthur knew his way around the base perfectly, and some soldiers even seemed to regognise him. Alfred suddenly understood what the Englishman meant by "greenseed." It was humiliating to follow him around like a kid... However, Arthur was right: he needed to acquire some experience before going around on his own. Alfred had always been reckless, but he knew that war was not a joke. He knew it all too well.

The two men entered a building that didn't look official and Alfred was suddenly filled with an easy, down-home American feeling. The Beatles was on the jukebox and lots of people were dancing.

"Is that... a bar?! Right in the middle of the base?" he asked, dumbfounded by the discovery.

"You look surprised. That's just an Officers' Club, they are really common in Vietnam. Oh! I see General Simons. Now if you'll excuse me..."

Without another word, Arthur joined a man who was waiting for him at a table. Alfred didn't know what to say. He had expected to be introduced, perhaps make some acquainctances... and now he was all alone. But he couldn't blame Arthur for this one. The interview was his turf, after all. Alfred knew how possessive correspondents could be about things like that. The base was big enough for him to find a subject of his own, anyway.

He sat at a table and took a look at the menu. They had hamburgers, steaks, fries... it made his mouth water to think about all this American food. It was still too early to have lunch, but trying the club's cooking sounded like a good idea right now. Only god knew when he would have the occasion to come here again.

"A milkshake please," he told the passing waitress.

The girl took his order and about five minutes later, a girl emerged from the kitchen holding a strawberry milkshake topped with whipped cream.

"Here's your..."

The girl abruptly stopped. Shock was etched all over her face and the glass in her hand was dangerously shaking.

"Hem... are you alright?" Alfred said prudently. "You look on the verge of passing out."

She brought a hand to her lips, as if checking if she was dreaming. Alfred's slight annoyance turned into amusement. The girl was quite pretty and her expresssion made her look somehow cute. But then she said something that totally horrified him.

"Matthew!"

Alfred's blood turned cold.

"What did you call me?"

The glass slipped from the girl's hand and came crashing to the ground. He grabbed her by the arm before she even had the chance to crouch in order to pick up the glass shards. All eyes were on them . The other customers were probably thinking they were witnessing scene. But Alfred neither realised nor cared.

"I said: 'What did you call me?' "

His tone wasn't exactly menacing, but something about the way he was grabbing her arm made it look like he was assaulting her. And the fact that he was much taller than her didn't help much.

"PHUNG LY!" yelled a Vietnamese man who seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

At the sound of this furious voice, the girl -now identified as Ly- broke free from Alfred's grip with surprising ease. The expression of shock vanished from her face and was replaced by cold defiance. She suddenly looked very grown-up.

"PHUNG LY!..."

The rest of the man's sentence was in Vietnamese, but from the screaming everyone could tell that that Ly was in deep trouble. She made a few attempts to speak, but failed. Everytime she opened her mouth, the man spoke even louder as if to drown her words before they even had the chance to escape her mouth. At last Alfred realised that all of this was happening because of him. He tried to intervene.

"Look sir, I don't know what you are talking about but the incident was not the girl's fault. I'm the one who..."

The man raised a hand to prevent Alfred from speaking.

"We are very sorry for this incident sir. It's not the first time that Ly shows insolence in front of customers. Please accept a refund."

"No, listen to me I..."

"You can be assured that this will not happen again. It will not happen again because Phung Ly is officially FIRED!"

A few people snickered. The girl suddenly went very pale, then blushed. Then slowly, she made her way to the backroom.

The girl had lost her job, ans it was his fault. _Shit_!

He evaluated the different options. Talking to the patron probably wouldn't change a thing, since the patron seemed to bear some kind of deep down grudge against the girl. Alfred followed Ly to the backroom. She was packing her things in order to leave. She didn't even look at him.

When she was finished, she put a straw hat on her head and made her way to the back exit. It made Alfred nervous not to be able to see her face. Those Vietnamese hats were HUGE. Was she furious at him? She had every right to be...

"Look, I'm... very sorry for what happened."

Ly's grip on her bag tightened and Alfred was afraid she might hit him. She didn't, but her pace accelerated. _Shit_. Several girlfriends had taught him that getting hit was better than getting no reaction at all. The girl's silence was a pretty bad sign.

"You see, Matthew is my brother. So you can at least understand why I reacted that way."

She abruptly stopped and faced him... or at least the hat faced him.

"Oh I know who you are! You are... Alfred. Matthew's noisy twin brother. When he told me about you being '_extrovert_', I didn't know that he was severely distorting reality!"

"That's an interesting display of vocabulary. Where did you learn to speak English like that?"

She stayed silent for a second, then raised an angry fist in the air. He could only imagine the colour raising in her cheeks.

"Are you mocking me now? Oh my god, you are even worse than I thought! I can't believe you-"

"Look, I'm sorry to interrupt your diatribe but the fact than I can't see your face is seriously reducing the dramatic effect."

He moved towards her and flicked the hat, causing it to fall to the ground. She stared wide-eyed at him, the sun directly shining on her face, making her eyes look golden. Several strands of hair raven-coloured had escaped her ponytail and fallen on her forehead, making her skin look shockingly pale by contrast. Her rosy lips were parted, revealing two sets of pearly white was not just 'pretty'... she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. He had failed to realise that in the dimly lit bar. He was not used to exotic women, but this one was particularly striking.

She, too, was eyeing him. Golden stared into blue. For what could have been ten seconds, none of them spoke.

Alfred was the first one to snap out of it. It was getting embarrassing. He picked up her hat from the ground and dusted it a bit, then handed it to her.

"Here... and sorry about that," he said sheepishly.

Now that he knew what she looked like -how good-looking she was, in fact- it was a bit less easy to speak to her. She accepted the hat but didn't put in back on. The anger had vanished from her face and had been replaced by what seemed like amusement.

"You know, Matthew was right about you," she said. "There's something incredible about your eyes. They... twinkle."

"Oh... did he really say that?"

"He did. By the way, is he okay?"

Realisation suddenly hit Alfred. She didn't know Matthew was dead. It explained why she hadn't understood Alfred's reaction at the bar. He felt tremendously uncomfortable. It was like San Francisco all over again, except this time he had to announce his brother's death to a bar girl he'd just met. But something told him that the girl was genuinely attached to his brother. Otherwise, she wouldn't have remembered him that well. As a bar girl, she probably saw hundreds of similar-looking guys everyday.

"Look, how about we go to my hotel? I don't feel comfortable with all those guys watching us."

Ly looked around. There were indeed many people watching them. They probably didn't understand what was going on.

"You know, that sounded a bit..."

Ly blushed. Alfred replayed the conversation in his head.

"Oh christ. I mean, let's go to my hotel to TALK."

He had made sure to say the last word very loudly, and the GIs who had been watching them looked away with sheepish looks on their faces. Alfred and Ly both laughed in spite of themselves.

"So, does that mean yes?"

Ly nodded.

* * *

**So, let's recap: so far Alfred has been called a woman, has got harrassed by Francis, has** **completely forgotten about Arthur (who's still at the bar wondering what the hell is going on and pretending not to know Alfred) and has got Ly fired. Way to go, America!**


End file.
